


Freudian (Mystrade version)

by Strangecat_Ramsey



Series: Freudian [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caning, Discipline, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangecat_Ramsey/pseuds/Strangecat_Ramsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Sherlock Kink MEME Prompt:<br/>The Holmes brother had a very warm childhood. Lestrade and John had absent and extremely strict parents. Its funny how these things shape a person.</p>
<p>A couple of ficlets about Mycroft and Greg's relationships with their fathers, and the men they grow up into and their relationship.</p>
<p>Unbeta'd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Greg's Day.

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters are more about what made Mycroft and Greg into the men they are rather than their particular childhoods. 
> 
> Possibly abit darker than intended and Abit more angsty on the Holmes front than I wanted. Not sure if any of this makes sense.

Family dinners were always the most stressful occasion within the Lestrade Family. Mother would cook dinner to be served at 6 sharp every day unless it was a Sunday in which case a rather large lunch after church would do with a light tea for dinner with afters. Mother would have the girls help in the kitchen while the boys went about their yard chores. Then they would clean up and prepare for dinner.

Woe betide any member of the family that had not been present on time. Gregory Lestrade Sr. Ruled the family with an iron fist. A Senior member of the Church but more importantly Head of the local Police Station. He ran his family as if he were running his police station. Expecting them to behave appropriately at all times. Speaking softly but holding a menacing power about him that stopped lesser men in their tracks. He commanded respect. 

The tight crunch in Greg’s gut as he raced through the door into the dining area was enough to take his appetite away. 15 minutes late as per the clock on the mantel piece above his Fathers head. The food mother had prepared left untouched waiting for his arrival. 

The look on his father’s brow deeply burrowed as he took in the sight of his oldest son, dirt streaked, stained trousers, panting as he tried to catch his breath, staring pointedly at him, before checking his own fob watch clearly unhappy but not commenting, the clocks ticking filled the room. The collection of 4 girls and 3 boys all staring down at their plates not daring to look up for fear that they might be caught in the cross fire . His mother’s back was as tense as his own.

Greg knew better than to keep anyone waiting and walked as quickly as he could to the downstairs bathroom scrubbing his hands and face thoroughly before returning back to take his seat besides his father, following him in prayer for their food and blessings, noting the addition of punctuality within the prayer before dinner was served. 

Greg had to force himself to eat his dinner, feeling nauseous as the girls began to clear the table, leaving the boys to their normal discussions with their father. The table quiet as always as Father went about interrogating each of them about their day. Leaving Greg for last as always. 

This evening was different from most evenings however as he dismissed them before he could talk to Greg. Sending them off with a meaningful look at Greg who nodded his understanding and disappeared for the rest of the evening to clean up properly, ignoring the swilling feeling within his gut as he knew his what awaited him.

When all the Children had been put to bed he returned to the dining room to face his crime. Very little space was available within their home for entertaining indoors given the amount of children and the dining room had always been reserved for entertaining as well as discipline.

Nothing was said between them as both knew that no excuse would be accepted for such a grievous crime against the family. Father’s cane already hanging from his arm as he stood aside waiting for his son to take the position. His silent austere manner, lending calmness to his son even though he was about to inflict punishment upon him. 

Greg slipped his sleep trousers down around his ankles before he bent over the dining room table where he sat to eat each night. Every particle of his being yelling at him to get up and leave, refuse to do this. But he had to. He had to prove to his father, as well as himself that he wasn’t the same Greg that tried to throw his life away by becoming a thug.

The hard feel of the cane resting on his presented backside caused him to catch his breath trying to prepare himself for the first blow.

“Why are you here Gregory Lestrade?” His father’s soft elegant calm voice cut through the room as the cane pressing harder against his skin before swinging back to take aim.

“For being disrespectful to mother by being late for dinner sir. For which I apologise, and shall apologise to mother “he wished he could promise that he would never do it again, but that had never been part of the script. Father understood. He was an extremely strict almost over critical man but fair if not harsh. 

His father’s acceptance of this was to bring the cane down firmly, the strike sounding like gun fire as it landed firmly across Greg’s backside, quickly followed by a further dozen, colouring his backside in bright red welts . Each one causing Greg to bite his tongue firmly to hide the hiss and whimpering he so longed to utter. Knowing any noise or cry would only bring upon further wrath.

By the final blow Greg wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from wailing like a baby, praying he hadn’t earned further punishment, his knuckles white against the table as he heard his father step back and wait for him to rise, giving him a few minutes to let him compose himself before putting a hand on his shoulder and helping him to stand, being surprisingly gentle about it, even giving him a few seconds to right his clothing.

“Well done son, you took that very well. I’m proud of you. You took it like a man and now its all over. I hope we won’t have to do this again anytime soon.” His father almost seemed to be joking as if trying to lighten the mood. Greg understood that he didn’t enjoy inflicting punishment, but he also understood the need to punish a crime. He had once rebelled against his father and everything he stood for. But his father had always loved him and now stood by him.

Greg could only follow even in his pained state by letting out a pathetic pained chuckled, giving his dad a small lopsided lightly watery eye’d grin before allowing his father to help him to the small sitting room his father and mother usually shared once the children went to bed. His mother had obviously retired for the evening. It was always difficult for her to see her children hurt. However even if punishment was painful, and he knew he’d be getting further lectures, any personal attention from his father was worth it.

Greg was grateful to be allowed to stand beside the fireplace, rather than to sit on the wooden stool beside his father’s chair. Watching in amazement as his father poured not only himself a whiskey but a small tot for his son as well. Giving it to him with a steady hand before sitting down in his chair to examine his son more closely. Greg holding onto the whiskey tightly as if afraid to drop it. Not sure what to do or how to drink it, almost wondering if it were a test.

“You are reconsidering becoming a policeman.” his father’s uncanny ability to deduce things about Greg had always unnerved him. He hoped that one day he might be that great a detective.

“ I want to become a Detective Sir. I just; I don’t want people thinking that I got where I am because you are my father sir. This town still remembers me for…what I was. They wont forgive so quickly nor forget” Greg answered hesitantly looking down into his whiskey glass, ashamed at the way he had behaved, watching his father take a small sip from his own and following suit. 

“I take it that is why you were involved in a fight before dinner today?”

“Something of the like sir. “ Greg was grateful to his father, burning backside and all. The man was not to be played with, his discipline was often harsh but in the same breath he was understanding and acted with thought. Years previously Greg had hated his father for it. Would curse and yell at him, trying to force his father into anger and violence, never really managing it. The resulting punishments had been far worse. He still bore the scars. Tonight was mild compared to nights when he and his father butted heads. He only hoped that his siblings would never be like him.

“As for becoming a detective, your mother and I have considered the possibility of you feeling unwelcome of course. This is a small community and the …accident has left its mark on your reputation. It’s true. You won’t be treated fairly here, something I can not abide. For that reason you’ll be sent to live with your aunt in London during your studies until you can make your own way. It will break your mothers heart of course, but it should make life easier for you.” His father gave him a piercing look, the one that seemed to be able to read to his very soul before finishing off his whiskey.

He took a breath finishing his own whiskey as his father motioned for him to head upstairs to bed, putting the glass down beside his fathers, offering up his hand to shake his father’s goodnight “Thank you sir…for everything.”

Gregory Lestrade Sr. Watched his oldest son walk out of the room, surprised at the fact that his rebellious teenage punk brat that 2 years ago he’d been ashamed to admit was his son, had just thanked him. He could only hope that his other children would grow up to be men like Greg.


	2. Mycrofts day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's finding it difficult to cope with his new boarding school . The students dislike him and the teachers hate him. He phones his father.

“Siger Holmes Speaking.” 

“…” Siger strained hearing an intake of breath from the other side, the hesitation practically palpable on the other side of the phone. Pausing in his work.

“Hello? Mycroft is that you?”

“…Father” came a strained tired sounding voice.

“Mycroft my lad what’s wrong?” Siger asked returning to writing down his notes while he spoke with his son on the other end of the phone.

“I want to come home father.” Mycroft said in a soft whisper that Siger had to strain to hear, instantly stopping his writing to pay attention to Mycroft completely.

“Why? Is everything alright? Are you not making friends?” He asked concerned, eyes squinting from behind his glasses as he strained even more, the sound of the phone being moved around, after a long pause.

“I. I have made a friend Father. It’s just. I don’t like it here. I miss you and mummy and even Sherly. Please let me come home?” Mycroft practically begged, trying to hide how unhappy he was.

“Mycroft I know your first few months at boarding school are always the hardest to bare my boy. I went through that myself? What don’t you like? Is the cooking not up to standard?” Siger knew that it had to be something deeper than the cooking obviously, and his memories of school had been filled with high standards of food. But getting Mycroft to admit to a weakness took finesse. Mycroft was more stubborn than Sherlock at times.

“The cooking is…adequate Father. Not as good as Cooks, and certainly not as good as mothers, but its passable.” Mycroft muttered, into the phone, a small amount of humor in his voice as he answered, understanding his father’s attempt at a joke.

“Are they not treating you well?” Siger asked after a moment’s hesitation, after Mycroft didn’t continue to talk.

“…” Mycroft didn’t know what to say. He felt like it would be petty to complain about teachers and students. He was above all of it. He didn’t know why he was bothering his father.

“Mycroft answer me please?” The stern voice of Siger that wasn’t very often heard by his children came over the line, demanding some kind of reply from Mycroft.

“Please let me come home Father. Please? “Mycroft whined and didn’t know how to explain it to his father. He just wanted to go home. Why was that so hard to explain?

“Is it the other students Mycroft?” he prompted sensing his son’s frustration and wanting to help.

“I…No, not really. Harry; my house mate and I have sorted out the larger problems. We are just freshman father. Of course the older students would pick on us. But it’s mostly bearable. It doesn’t matter” Mycroft felt that possibly one day Harry and he could be good friends. He’d be sad to leave him behind but he wanted to go home. 

“And your teachers?” Siger Prompted quietly leaning back in his chair as he listened to the sharp intake of breath on Mycroft’s side of the phone as Siger hit the nail on the bullseye.

“…they hate me.” Mycroft hesitated for so long before answering that his father thought that he wouldn’t answer again, the completely hurt, put out and painful way that Mycroft said it pulled at his heart strings.

“Oh you can’t mean that lad? Surely not?” Siger asked wondering what had prompted his son to feel so strongly about it.

“They don’t like me, they think I’m being smart.” Mycroft muttered again sounding utterly dejected, used to being thought of as intelligent and worthy of adult time, now betrayed by the very people he wanted to please. A clear panic setting in Mycroft’s voice.

“But you are smart Mycroft?” his father asked, somewhat appalled to hear that his sons teachers weren’t giving him the appropriate attention. 

“There’s a difference between being smart and…well they think I’m trying to make them look bad. They treat me like a freak. The other boys treat me like a fat freak. Harry’s the only one that likes me! I don’t like it here father, I want to come home!” Siger had to bite his knuckled, feeling his son’s pain acutely; wanting to wrap his arms around him and let him know everything was alright.

“Son listen to me? Are you listening? I want you to stay there till the end of the term. If you still don’t like it there then we can talk about moving you to a different school alright? Can you do that for me?” Siger decided that he’d be making some anonymous donations to the school and making enquiries into hiring some more attentive teachers. Mycroft thrived when he had intelligent company. 

“Father please…” Mycroft whimpered over the phone, the very idea of spending another day at the school nearly sending him into tears.

“Mycroft pay attention! It only matters if you care alright? Caring what they think is not to your advantage, close them out. They are not important. You’re not a freak unless you think you are alright? Don’t show them that they are making you feel bad, Don’t worry about what they think, just be yourself, keep your nose to the grindstone and the end of the term will fly by alright lad?” Siger spoke clearly and urgently, trying to help his son. Hoping against hope that he’d be able to sort his son’s problems out as quickly as possible, already summoning his assistant to his side to request a list of worthy teachers.

“…Yes father” Mycroft answered clearly trying to rally himself, but it was clear he was unhappy. Sigers heart went out to him. Looking forward to the long weekend coming up soon so that they could have a family outing.

“I love you son.” He said strongly, unashamed to say it. His son deserved to know that he was still loved.

“I love you too Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry the Equerry btw. not Harriet Watson.


	3. Mystrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is having a bad day. Mycrofts there to help him through it.

Gregory Lestrade managed to have a bad day on top of a bad night. Stumbling home just after midnight, after having been at work since the early morning before, deciding to walk to Mycroft’s and his flat rather than to get a cab, in order to clear his head never having wanted to take his work home with him. 

Especially when they had just decided to move in together. He knew that Mycroft would possibly be awake at this time of the evening and needed his wits about him, rather than leaving his mind with the little girl that had been so brutally murdered the night before last. Still unsolved.

He wasn’t sure how Mycroft would react to him arriving home so late and the churning presence that reminded him of what his father would have done, would not leave him be.

As luck would have it, just because it was his specially-bad day. It began to pour down with rain as he turned into the street that their flat was in leaving Greg with no option but to arrive home, dirty, bloody, smelly and now thoroughly soaked to the bones.

Instead of using the main entrance Greg came in through the kitchen, dropping most of his clothes in the garbage bin, and his shoes beside the sink for later scrubbing, hoping that Mycroft wouldn’t be up, and if he was wouldn’t wander why Greg was walking into the house with only his pants on.

Luck most certainly was not with Greg as he walked past the living room, he saw Mycroft sitting by the fire, his book in his lap looking up at him, his eyebrow arched in a way that spoke volumes before turning back to his book. Greg wasn’t sure he could deal with the silent treatment right now and was about to implore Mycroft to say something, when Mycroft closed the book, put it down getting up from his chair, In all the elegance and poise of a panther, slowly walking over to Greg.

“Good Evening Gregory.” Mycroft smiled softly at him,a smile only reserved for him, his voice a soft elegant rumble that reminded him so much of his father.Greg tried to smile back but found it difficult, Surprised when he found himself been pulledin the direction of the bathroom, the smell of misty warmth escaping from under the door.

“I took the liberty of drawing you a bath, I thought you may need one. I didn’t realize how right I was.” Mycroft led him into the bath before leaving him to soak in the warm water, Greg deciding not to wonder how Mycroft knew where or what had happened. He returning with a cup of high quality soup which Greg took gratefully sitting back and letting the warmth envelope him.

“God you’re a blessing you know that Mycroft?” Mycroft chuckled nodding his head in acceptance, tilting his head as he watched his partner finish his soup helping him get out of the bath, to towel him off, helping him to the living room realizing Greg would be too strung out from work to sleep just yet and poured them both a generous quantity of whiskey before sitting down in his seat beside the fire, watching Greg sit in his own. Allowing the time to pass quietly between them both.

“You had a hard day. The little girl…” Mycroft said after a time realizing that it might aid Greg if he could speak about his day. Something that Mycroft didn’t normally have the luxury of doing. Closed off from the world because of his job. Grateful to have Greg by his side at last.

“Yes. She was only 4. We’ll catch them eventually. Even if I have to call Sherlock in on the case.” Greg stated sipping his whiskey , pulling his dressing gown around himself a bit more for fear of scandalizing Mycroft. Not that it was anything he had never seen before.

“May I suggest looking into her parent’s Gregory? A messy divorce. I think it was an attempted kidnapping gone wrong. The parents are covering something I think possibly just the mother.” Mycroft stated, not looking at Greg hating it when he was right about most things. Greg looked at him as if he’d grown an extra head. The cool calm expression on his face hid the true disgust that he felt with regards to the perents.

“How did you?... Is it a Holmes thing?!” Greg asked leaning over nearly becoming unbalanced as he realized just how tired he was, only to get caught by Mycroft who helped him steady himself before heading them both off to bed, whiskeys unfinished. It was well past 2 in the morning by then.

“I might have caught sight of your file last night when the case was first opened. Some of it also caught on CCTV. The mother looks devastated but wouldn’t look at the child at the mortuary and didn’t blame the father. Though the brutality may suggest something more sinister. But the mother is definitely a participant. “ 

Greg stared at Mycroft as he slid him into bed removing his robe before sliding himself into bed. Greg sided up to Mycroft who wrapped an arm around him pulling him close so that they were both comfortable letting out a small sigh as Mycroft began to caress his back letting him drift against his shoulder as his fingers slid lower over the skin of his backside and back up his back, before sliding back down watching Greg start to fall asleep before him, feeling the lines and old scars on Greg’s backside and back as he continued stroking his back, reminders of Greg's childhood, sighing sadly as Greg finally fell asleep.He pulled Greg closer to himself before allowing himself to drift to sleep wanting to keep his husband to be wrapped in his arms forever protected from the world, and knowing that it wasn’t always going to be possible.


End file.
